Il Principe
by spentlizard
Summary: Slightly AU from Brotherhood. While Ezio sets out to remove the Borgias from power in Rome, Machiavelli and Claudia do whatever they can to help him. However, as time goes on and they become more acquainted with each other, something blossoms between the two Assassins, and they struggle to balance how they feel about each other with the fight at hand. Rated T for Italian swearing.


_Florence, 1483_

Niccolò Machiavelli had the standard childhood one could expect from the upper class of Florence. He had been educated by the finest tutors his father's money could buy, becoming an avid learner of grammar, rhetoric, Latin, the fine arts, the sciences, philosophy, economics, military strategy, and politics. The boy was so well absorbed in his studies that he suggested to his father that he needn't a tutor anymore and could simply learn everything he could out of books. He lost that argument, but at fourteen-years-old, it was reasonable to assume that Niccolò was better educated than the majority of his peers and even those already in high positions in society.

Still, Niccolò felt something lacking in his life. He was still young, but he felt that he didn't have a stable direction in his life as of yet. There were so many options to choose from that the mere thought of that number made him feel overwhelmed. He didn't know if he wanted to be a lawyer, a philosopher, a soldier, a statesman, or what. Everyone in the city kept saying that this was the era of new ideas and big dreams, but he didn't know which ones to chase.

One day, he was sitting by himself in a small park just north of the _Duomo._ Niccolò had his textbook on the Greek language on his lap as he attempted to decipher the meaning of the characters on the page. Unfortunately, Greek was the one subject that he had trouble with. At least with Latin the lettering was the same as his native Italian, but it was near impossible for him to understand Greek. Not to say that he had a disliking of Greek culture either; in fact he had copies of the works of Aristotle and Plato at home translated through Latin. It was simply the language he had trouble with.

While reading through the book, Niccolò heard the sounds of angry grunts ahead of him, but he did not look up. He needed to understand this or his father would punish him later. He attempted to continue reading, but at the sound of a man in purple robes shouting "THIEF! PICKPOCKET!" he couldn't help but look up to see what had happened. He saw what looked to be an upper class man (probably a banker), waving his fist in the air as he shouted at a strange figure that was running like the Devil away from him. What was most odd about this figure was not his speed or the brown, caped cloak and hood he wore around himself, but the fact that after he had ran to the end of the street towards the wall of a building, rather than stopping in his tracks or turning to run down the street in either direction, the man started to _scale_ the wall with great speed. He ran up the wall and grabbed onto the nearby ledge, pulling himself up as he used the architecture of the building to his advantage as he climbed away.

" _Che diavolo?"_ Niccolò muttered to himself, closing his book. He had never seen anything like that before. That speed, that agility... he had seen his fair share of thieves around the city, but none had the level of skill that this man did. It was quite impressive, really. Even though he was nothing more than some lowlife, Niccolò couldn't help but admire his talent.

When he was around seven, his father had taught him to respect power whenever he saw it, no matter what form it took. Niccolò sat upon his father's lap in their living room, and he said " _Son, you must understand this. There are good and bad people in this world, but the one thing that remains neutral is power. Power is something in short supply that is seized by both sides constantly, but offers a great boon to those who have it. It is paramount to know that it does not matter how this power is acquired as long as it is obtained, for with power comes control. Only then can you decide how you want to use it. For example, the nobleman with all the money he could ever want that doesn't seize his opportunities is worse off than the farmer suffering drought that does."_

Niccolò took his father's lesson to heart, and constructed his life based on what he had taught him. Power was the true name of life's game, and he would be pragmatic in his attempt to ascertain it. Only then would he find contentment with his life.

However, he was still hard-pressed as to what he wanted to do to acquire this, as well as what he would do when he got it. Would he be a successful military leader and overthrow the French? Would he publish thinkpieces that would make everyone change their worldview? Would he use political power to expand suffrage to all individuals? To these questions, he had no answers.

His mind returning to the present, Niccolò opened his book and continued reading on, attempting to understand his lesson ahead of time before his tutoring session in the morning. But eventually, he had gotten so frustrated with his lack of comprehension that he slammed the book shut. He stood up from the bench he was sitting on and began to walk away from the park and into the street. His mother always worried when he went out on his own, but Niccolò thought she worried too much. He was old enough to walk the streets on his own. He never carried any valuables with him anyway, unless of course either one of his parents asked him to pick up something from the market. Fortunately, all he had with him was his Greek book, and no thief was going to steal that.

As he walked along the streets, invisible in the crowd of adults walking alongside him, Niccolò couldn't help but think of that thief, and just how skilled he was at what he did. It was almost like he was a living incarnation of one of those heroic crusader tales he read as a child.

Niccolò continued walking until he saw someone depart from the street and head into the alleyway on the right. No one paid it any mind, but Niccolò was attentive and recognized that this was the same man who had been pickpocketed earlier by the thief. He could tell because those purple robes were unmistakable. He knows he should be getting back home before his parents start to fret, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Was the man attempting to locate the thief so he could get his money back?

He followed the man down the alley, making sure he wasn't noticed, and then the man took a left turn into an adjoining alleyway. Niccolò peaked around the corner to see the man being hugged by another man wearing a black cloak and a man wearing a green cloak next to him.

"May the Father of Understanding guide you, brothers," the man in the purple cloak addressed the two, and the men replied in sync with each other, "May the Father of Understanding guide you."

 _The Father of Understanding?_ Niccolò asked himself internally, _What is going on here?_

"It has been too long, Pietro," the man in black addressed the man in purple, "Tell me, is it true? Do you have the key?"

" _Si,_ brother," Pietro addressed, pulling out a long grayish-silver key from the inside of his cloak. It had a strange design at the bow, for it was shaped like an angled blade, pointing upward almost in an "A" formation.

"Some _borsaiolo_ stole my purse on my way here, but fortunately he did not lay his hands on the key," Pietro finished.

"That was a close call, brother," the man in green spoke, "Almost too close. How much did you lose?"

"It was only a couple of florins anyway, Ernesto," Pietro said, "But not even a bagful of diamonds is as valuable as what's in the box. Tell me, brother Giuliano, do you have it?"

" _Si,_ brother," the man in black, presumably Giuliano, answered. He picked up a small box from the ground and held it in both hands. It looked to be a thin package for it was not very wide, but it did seem very long. It too bore the strange insignia as the key, and within the symbol is what looked to be a locking mechanism.

"At last, we will finally have the sword," Pietro spoke aloud, a smile forming at his lips. He took the key he held in his hand and inserted it into the slot and turned.

Nothing.

"Huh?" Pietro uttered as the smile disappeared from his face. He kept jiggling the key around, but to no avail. The box simply wouldn't open.

" _Cazzo!"_ Pietro shouted, "This key was supposed to work! Do you know how long it took me to find this?"

"Pietro, keep your voice down," Ernesto said, "You'll draw in outsiders."

"Don't tell me what to do, Ernesto!" Pietro shouted at his associate, "You always get nervous whenever anyone raises their voice!"

"With good reason," Giuliano spoke up, and Niccolò only realized then that he was looking directly at him and pointed in his direction, "Over there!"

Pietro and Ernesto turned their heads to where Niccolò was standing, and their eyes widened in surprise. Niccolò's eyes widened too, but only this time he was consumed in fear. He should've left earlier when he had the chance.

"Uh-oh," he utters to himself, and his book slips from between his fingers onto the ground. He slowly starts to back up from where he was standing, and then he turns around and begins to run away.

"You! Boy! Stop!" Pietro call out after him, and the three men start to chase after Niccolò. The boy pushes himself through the crowded streets and attempts to lose them, but he does a double-take and sees Pietro right on his tail. Niccolò's breath starts picking up as he continues to run away from these men, not having any clue as to what's going on. He ducks into an alleyway on his left in an attempt to break their line of sight, but he moves so fast that he ends up tripping over his own feet and landing flat on his face.

Before he can pull himself off the ground, he feels a pair of arms seize him from behind and hoist him on his feet. He is then promptly slammed into the wall of the building, breaking his nose and causing blood to run down his face. The arms turn him around so that he's face-to-face with Pietro, who then grabs the bottom of his mouth tightly as the boy attempts to break himself free to no avail.

"Let me go!" Niccolò shouts at Pietro, but the man does not listen. Soon afterwards, Ernesto and Giuliano show up and pin Niccolò's arms to the wall.

"What did you see, _ragazzo?"_ Pietro asks menacingly.

"Nothing, I swear!" Niccolò lies, and Pietro sees right through it. He lets go of the boy's face, and then draws a knife from his robes. Niccolò begins to whimper in fear, never having his life threatened before.

"I'm going to ask again," Pietro begins, "What. Did. You. See?"

"I- I-" Niccolò struggled to get the words out, "Something about a father and a sword or something?"

Pietro turns his head away and clicks his tongue, and then he sighs, saying "Brothers, we know what has to happen."

"Pietro," Ernesto speaks up, "You can't be serious. After all, he's only a boy-"

"I'm tired of your whining, Ernesto!" Pietro shouts, "Besides, the boy knows too much already!"

Niccolò was about to ask what he was talking about, but his breath picked up in fear because he already knew the answer to that question. He looks up to the sky, and though he wasn't a very firm believer, he felt compelled to make a prayer to God before he died. Before he even made one, he looked up above to see an eagle. It was alone, flying majestically through the air. It was a noble bird, not one he usually saw. Niccolò thought that at least he would have this memory before he died.

He looked back down towards Pietro again, and he saw the man put the knife up against his throat. Niccolò closed his eyes tightly, preparing himself for the end.

But the end never came.

Niccolò heard the sound of flesh being pierced with a blade, but it was not his own. Quickly, he opened his eyes to see Pietro standing before him with a shocked look on his face, he had dropped his knife onto the ground, and in the middle of his chest a deep red stain quickly formed on his purple robes. Pietro looked down and placed a hand to his chest, looked forward again, and then collapsed onto his knees before falling onto the ground, dead.

Niccolò, Ernesto, and Giuliano looked in shock at the sight of Pietro's dead body, and then looked up to see a figure standing before him. He was tall, slender, and dressed in a simple brown outfit covered over by a cape and hood of the corresponding color. His eyes were obscured by the hood, but his thin lips were visible beneath the shroud he engulfed himself with. In his right hand he held a butcher knife in his long fingers in a firm grip, but there was no blood adorning the weapon. On his left arm, however, a small contraption was laced around his forearm towards the wrist, the underside revealing a mechanism that extended a blade from the inside of it. The blade itself was visibly extended, coated in Pietro's blood.

"I am not one who enjoys violence," the man spoke with an eerie calm about his person, "but I must warn you, I am very good at it. Not to boast, of course."

Trembling, Ernesto and Giuliano released their hold on Niccolò, dropping him to the ground. With haste, the men drew out their swords and assumed a defensive stance against the thief. The thin lips of the man smirked, and he held his knife and wristblade at the ready.

Niccolò could not bear to watch, so he kept his head between his arms as the thief fought with Ernesto and Giuliano. He had heard the sounds of metal clinking, blade piercing flesh, and screams of pain. By the time everything had stopped, it took Niccolò a moment to pull his head from between his arms, and he saw the bloodshed before him.

Ernesto had his throat cut and was lying on his front. Giuliano was stabbed in the leg and was somehow impaled with his own sword. The thief stood unscathed above the two men, his blades bloody as well as his hands and the front of his tunic.

"These Templars, they get more pathetic every day," he remarks to himself. Niccolò just sits there, dumbfounded, not having any clue as to what just happened or why it happened.

The man took notice of the boy lying on the ground, and asked "Are you alright, kid?"

Niccolò couldn't answer the man, still in shock from what he just saw.

"Hmm, a broken nose maybe, but nothing too serious, it seems," he said, his wristblade locking back into place and putting his knife in a sheathe on his belt.

"I must admit, you did throw a wrench into my plan," he continued, "I was supposed to ambush them when they were in the same place, not go running off after them because you let your curiosity get the better of you. But it matters little, for now we have the sword and key."

Niccolò had so many questions running through his head. Who was this man? What were these men doing? Why the violence and secrecy? What was in the box?

And the first thing to come out of his mouth?

"The key didn't work," Niccolò said, and the man just laughed.

"Of course it didn't work, my boy," he laughed again, "It was a fake!"

Niccolò was confused, and the man pulled a key identical to Pietro's key out of his back pocket.

"This is the real key. I planted the false one on him earlier. Of course, you saw that too, right?" he asked, but Niccolò was still confused.

"How did you-" he began to ask, but the man cut him off, saying, "It is my business to know everything that happens in this city. Now, for that box..."

The man picked up the box from Giuliano's body, inserted the real key, and opened the container to reveal a sword made of the shiniest steel Niccolò had ever seen. The sword looked like a crusader knight's but with an eagle's head in the hilt.

"What is that?" Niccolò asked.

"This," the man began, "is the legendary sword of Altair Ibn-La'Ahad. He was an Assassin, as am I."

Niccolò began to muster up what courage he had, and asked "Who are you?"

"My manners, I apologize," he said, "I've been called many things. Murderer, _taliagole,_ thief, but you may call me La Volpe."

Volpe extended his free hand out to the boy, but Niccolò was hesitant to shake it on account of the fact it was covered with blood. He had heard about the infamous La Volpe, but never expected to actually meet him. He was as awestruck as he was terrified.

Niccolò took Volpe's hand, and they shook.

"It is good to meet you, Niccolò Machiavelli," Volpe said, and before Niccolò could ask how he knew his name, Volpe said "All of your questions will be answered in due time. For now, we must go and find my Mentor. That is," a beat, "if you wish to come along."

Niccolò hesitated, thought for a long moment, and said "I do. I saw you climb earlier, I've seen your fighting skills, and I see your cunning and resourcefulness now. I wish for understanding."

Volpe smiled, and said "Understanding lies at the heart of our Creed. Come Niccolò, it is time."


End file.
